


Upward Spiral

by midgetnazgul



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Getting Together, Joltolock, Multi, Past Relationship(s), Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3664623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midgetnazgul/pseuds/midgetnazgul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The wheel turns; nothing is ever new."</p><p>But sometimes, no matter how circuitous, you can end up in a little better place than you were before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            It had been a quiet evening at Baker Street, with Sherlock and John enjoying a day off after a weeklong case. They lay together in bed, fresh orgasms only just burning off and John toying with Sherlock's damp fringe. A sloppy grin was painted across his face, and as Sherlock witnessed his partner's happy buzz, he decided to at last give his long-awaited plan an opportunity, while John was pleased and pliable. 

            “I'd ...like to try something.” 

            John's grin widened and his eyes lit up. 

            “Jesus, Sherlock, give me twenty minutes.” 

            “No, no. Not now, but...soon. Perhaps tomorrow.” 

            “Sounds ambitious.”           

            Sherlock's eyebrows lifted in amusement. 

            “Quite.” 

            Given their rigorous activities, John nodded off quickly after their conversation. Once assured he was out completely, Sherlock seized his phone to send a text. 

~ 

            Sherlock rose early the next morning, though he was loath to ease himself out from under John's still-sleeping body. Within an hour and a half he was showered, shaven, and in a cab. The destination was a nondescript cafe – a little cliché, perhaps, but he wasn't looking to be particularly elaborate about the meeting. As he opened the door and headed inside, he congratulated himself; this method was a little...clandestine, but if it didn't get past this first step, Sherlock could easily explain away the conversation with John with a simple application of handcuffs or some other little flourish. He caught a glance at the corner of the restaurant – already, he had arrived. That could only be expected of a military man. 

            “James,” Sherlock greeted as he took a seat across the table. 

            Sholto simply returned a nod. He was nervous; that was to be expected, even for him. Sherlock leant forward and folded his hands on the table. 

            “Thank you for coming, I appreciate it.” 

            “What makes you think this will work? Have you discussed this?” James asked. So very blunt and straight to the heart of it. Sherlock couldn't help but smirk his appreciation of that. 

            “No, I haven't. _He_ doesn't talk about it and _hasn't_ ever, in any respect. Which is why this will work.” 

            James stared off towards the kitchen; the thumb on his good hand tapped the table. 

            “You want to know why. Have you not grasped that this was my intention from the beginning?” Sherlock asked. 

            “I didn't know _what_ to think in the beginning. To be frank, I still don't. What do you have to gain from this, besides following through, just to stab me in the back and flaunt?” James said, tone hot and pointed. Sherlock balked a little, even though it only further proved his hypothesis. 

            “I have no intention of taunting or hurting you in the least, you have my word on that.” 

            James held Sherlock's eyes with a glare for several long seconds, but Sherlock returned it with an understanding passiveness. Eventually James deflated and his shoulders lost a little of their rigidity. 

            “That still doesn't tell me why,” James continued as a weak attempt at a rebuke. 

            “Put simply, it's unfinished business, and I abhor that sort of thing.” 

            “So I'm something to be placated and then swept aside?” 

            Sherlock frowned and dipped his head in apology. 

            “No. My apologies, I was just being flippant in my summary. It is, however, something that _is_ unfinished and deserves...acknowledgment. John refuses to discuss you with me and displays a lot of obvious evasion behaviour when I nudge at it. He feels guilty. It's...something that is still a part of him. And for your part...I can certainly sympathise with your position,” Sherlock finished with a small measure of discomfort, but the honesty did its job – James relaxed further, though he looked more defeated than anything else. 

            “We have our similarities, but I don't know if I could ever make such an extraordinary offer myself. You are quite a remarkable man, Sherlock.” 

            “I am indeed remarkable, you're correct, but this...is, I feel, about doing the right thing. I'm not sure how to describe it so it doesn't make you _or_ John sound pitiable, and that _also_ isn't my intention. If either side of the equation between the two of you felt unbalanced, I wouldn't have come forward. But it doesn't, so I have.” 

            “I am just going to have to trust you on that. Regardless of what John thinks or feels at his core, this is going to piss him off.” 

            “Oh, inevitably. I went behind his back; that alone guarantees he'll be angry. But all that's required is getting him past the crest of that anger and stubbornness, and he'll open up to talk. I'm assuming you've seen him angry before. That isn't going to be a shock to you, correct?” 

            At last, James cracked a smile and gave a little huff of a laugh. 

            “Yes, I've seen him angry.” 

            “Good. And anyway, you're plenty good under pressure. A little bit of shouting isn't going to put you off.” 

            “What is your endgame with this?” 

            Fair question. Sherlock sat back and considered it all again for the thousandth time. 

            “I...don't have one, to be honest. What happens, happens. I'm confident enough it will end well irrespective of detail, so I'm not particularly concerned as to the what.” 

            “You're so...casual about this,” James said, confusion thick in his tone and deep in his expression. 

            Sherlock shrugged. 

            “It helps I like you, too. You deserve the chance to put everything behind you just as much as John does. Things have been even more difficult for you than they were for John.” 

            That set James back a little. 

            “You didn't seem to much like me at the wedding.” 

            “Well...jealousy makes unpleasant people of us all. That was a difficult day for the both of us.” 

            “Quite correct. It's rather strange to be sitting here now.” 

            “Indeed. I haven't grown accustomed to...all of this, yet.” 

            Sherlock thumped the table with his gloved palm, eager to move past his emotional admission. 

            “If you're ready.” 

            After a beat, James nodded and began extricating himself from the narrow booth. 

            “God help us both,” he mumbled as he headed on past Sherlock for the door. 

~ 

            Sherlock was damned lucky John was an early and quick riser, because anyone else wouldn't have even gotten past 'hello' with this shit this early. James and Sherlock stood off from each other at the door to the stairs, just a little skittish with nervousness under John's withering glare. John had come out from the kitchen upon hearing the arrival home, expecting a client with the obvious second set of feet heading up the stairs. 

            He'd been incorrect. 

            “This,” John started, voice low. “This is what you mean by 'trying something', didn't you?” 

            Sherlock's lips pursed and he nodded. 

            “Er...yes.” 

            John grit his teeth. He should have seen this coming. There had been a little too much poking at the subject, and Sherlock _had_ always had that tendency to just follow through on his curiosity just for the sake of the thing. By now, John should be better at this; that only made him angrier. 

            “Even more astounding is _you,_ ” John continued, rounding on James. His mouth drew into a thin line and he lifted his chin defiantly to take the hit. Oh, he was still good, even now. Never to be intimidated, even by John. “I'm floored you would let yourself be roped into one of Sherlock's schemes.” 

            “I haven't been roped into anything. I made a choice based on reasonably-believable information.” 

            John grunted and rolled his eyes.           

            “How long has this been going on?”

            “I sent James an introductory email six weeks ago,”  Sherlock answered evenly. 

            “ _James?_ ” 

            “Yes, _James_. He and I have reached something of a rapport. _No_ , _John_ , that isn't what I'm implying,” Sherlock immediately continued, holding up a hand to halt John's incredulity morphing into indignation. “I am not cheating on you. I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, but that will _never_ be one of them.” 

            It kept John from boiling over with rage, but nonetheless he stood there for a bit, chest heaving and hands balled into fists. Sherlock moved to speak again, but John shut him up with a snap of his arm to hold up a finger. James and Sherlock shared a brief look before James stepped forward a couple steps. 

            “John. I wouldn't have come if I didn't honestly believe Sherlock was trying to help you,” he said, his usually firm tone just warmed over with familiarity. “In fact, even _that_ probably wouldn't have convinced me – he's legitimately trying to help _me_ , too. Unexpected, but...appreciated,” James finished, glancing over at Sherlock as he finished his thought. 

            John grit his teeth. 

            “But _you_ know, you fucking _know_ how-” 

            “Yes!” James shouted over him. “Yes, I _know_ what happened and I _know_ why it did but you're _past_ that now, or at least you damn well should be with _him_ involved,” he said, pointing at a completely lost Sherlock. “I am miserable and tired and fucking _wrecked_ , so _forgive me_ if I latched onto an offer, however unlikely, of at least _some_ reconciliation in my life!” 

            Instantaneously, John relented. His shoulders wilted and his chest almost seemed to grow concave with the massive sigh he released. Sherlock's eyes shot between the two, and for the first time he truly began to regret his idea. This was much more complicated than he'd anticipated. As his worry spiralled down towards panic, John took a few stiff steps forward, hands clenching at his sides, towards James. 

            “You're right,” he wheezed. “You're completely right, and I'm sorry. I just...this...being blindsided is _not_ how I would have wanted it to be brought up.” 

            “You never would have any other way,” James shot back, quicker than Sherlock, who'd been preparing to say much the same himself. 

            John took the hit with pursed lips and downward cast eyes, and eventually returned a curt nod. 

            “God, I fucking hate how _right_ you are when it comes to shit like this. _Both_ of you,” he said, pointing back at them as he turned on a heel to retreat to the safety of his chair again. “You very much have that in common.” 

            The three of them drifted into an uneasy silence so they could absorb what just happened. Sherlock especially needed a moment to adjust his tactics. At length, he rocked back and forth on his heels, careful not to look at either of them as he moved to speak. 

            “If...you'd prefer I leave-” 

            “No,” came simultaneous replies. John turned to look, surprised that James agreed with him before addressing Sherlock. “You're not going fucking _anywhere_. No cutting and running on this one.” 

            “I doubt he really wants to. All good intentions aside, he wants answers that, while I'm not surprised you haven't given them, he should have,” James replied, all but boring holes into John's head with his stare. 

            “God,” John said, putting his face in his hands. There was so much about... _all_ of that he didn't want to talk about. “Please don't tell me this has to happen right now.” 

            “It doesn't,” Sherlock replied. He took a moment to put a thankful hand to James' shoulder before approaching John where he sat. “I just wanted to illustrate how...vital it is that you do. I _am_ curious, James is correct, but I am in fact more invested in what it means for you _and_ him.” 

            John slowly pulled away his hands to look at Sherlock standing over him. 

            “I'm terrible at articulating emotion, but I am _very_ good at seeing it. And you are not past...whatever this was you were just shouting about. Furthermore, if my suspicions are correct, letting it go will not solve anything,” Sherlock explained, careful to be gentle. John's discomfort with his sexuality was a very sensitive spot. 

            “What do you suspect?” John asked weakly. Sherlock could see in his expression that John knew exactly what he was going to say. 

            “That there is still a reciprocated and unrequited romantic relationship between the two of you.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

            John's immediate reaction was a sharp breath. He was still looking up at Sherlock, but his stare was into the middle distance rather than actually at his partner. Behind him, Sherlock could hear a similar, stifled utterance of surprise. 

            “You two were _not_ subtle at the wedding,” he said, letting himself have a moment of levity and a smirk. James gave a little breath of a snicker, but John wilted further and reached out to take Sherlock's hand. 

            “M'sorry.” 

            “What?” Sherlock asked, tilting his head. 

            “I...I'm sorry. I thought I was past it. But..but it doesn't mean...” 

            “Oh, no, don't be ridiculous, John. I know you still love me. This is not some torrid self-sacrifice on my part. I'm well aware of what is going on here, better than either of you. It's fine, that's why I've arranged all this.” 

            “You...said you didn't care about endgame,” James said carefully. 

            Sherlock turned and nodded, putting his hands in his pockets and totally at ease. 

            “I did, yes. And that is still the case.” 

            “Is that the suggestion I think it is?” 

            “You...still have a lot to hash out. But, once everything is properly laid to rest, if it's a possibility...yes, you're correct, I am indeed suggesting polyamory,” Sherlock said, deciding there was no point in dancing around euphemism anymore. “And a further discussion would have to occur about boundaries and the like, but in general I'm not opposed to the idea. Again, I wouldn't have done this if I didn't at least weigh it as possible and thought through how I felt about it.” 

            Dual silence and stares followed his announcement, leading Sherlock to roll his eyes. 

            “It's 2017, for heaven's sake, this should hardly be something that _causes drama._ ” 

            Sherlock stepped aside so John and James oh-so-conveniently would be staring at each other, and they did for a few hesitant beats. 

            “Can I ask why?” John asked Sherlock when he finally broke away from James' gaze. 

            “I told you when we first got together; I've committed myself to making you happy.” 

            John stood again and pulled Sherlock into a tight hug. 

            “You're still a shit for doing this behind my back.” 

            “Small price to pay.” 

            Despite himself, John snickered. He withdrew from the hug and brought Sherlock's forehead down for a quick kiss. His ease with his partner, however, couldn't be replicated as he approached James with slow steps, almost as if confronting a wild animal. James in turn shied a bit in posture, but stood his ground. John came to a stop a foot or so away – close, but not too familiar. He held out his hands in suggestion, and after a long moment of consideration, James brought up his for John to hold. A little flicker of shame passed over James' expression for not being able to reciprocate John's grip with his left hand. 

            “You said you're miserable,” John opened quietly. 

            James frowned and stared at the floor. 

            “You didn't have to tell me, I could see it at the wedding. I'm lucky you even came,” John added. 

            “It's not your fault,” James replied. 

            John gave a little _hm_ of doubt and bobbed his head side to side in mock contemplation. 

            “It's a little bit my fault,” he said, tilting his head to catch James' eye so he could see John's little smirk. James couldn't help but return it and straightened. 

            “A little bit,” he agreed. 

            The tension broke; John felt comfortable enough to close the distance in an embrace. James returned it, however stiffly. Even on his best day, that kind of affection wasn't James' natural intuition. 

            A possessive little flutter filled Sherlock's chest in response to the embrace, but thankfully not nearly as powerful as he'd worried it might be. He'd been talking a good game, but in his heart of hearts, he _had_ worried how he'd react if and when James and John admitted their feelings and chose to act on them. That felt like a good omen, as far as Sherlock was willing to believe in omens. 

            John opted to remain close, and let himself go enough to rest his forehead against James' shoulder. 

            “I know we need to talk. I just...” 

            “Yes, I understand.” 

            Sherlock deemed it safe enough to at last slide off his trenchcoat and hang it up. He turned in suggestion to James, and he slid off his own canvas jacket. 

            “How would you like to proceed, then?” Sherlock asked as he took James' jacket from him. 

            “I honestly don't know. I wasn't sure it would even get this far,” James admitted. John was closest at hand to him for the first time in years – that was more than a little overwhelming. He chewed at the inside of his cheek for a moment. “Was he right?” he finally asked, head turned towards John but actually looking off towards the far wall. “What Sherlock said.” 

            John's ears and neck went red, and his lips pursed as he stared into Sherlock's chest. 

            “Sherlock's never wrong.” 

            However, as John spoke, he understood that kind of euphemistic answer wasn't good enough after all this time, so he bounced on the balls of his feet and decided to try again. 

            “Yes. Yes, he's right. I do, and I have...yeah, I have always felt...that. God, I'm sorry,” John finished in a rush, and wandered off into the kitchen, hands to his forehead. James and Sherlock let him have his space. 

            “Is...isn't this...” John said as he paced the kitchen, “Am I just insane? I just...can't commit to anything, and I'll just end up hurting you both?” 

            “That automatically implies you care, John. That you're invested in both of us equally,” James replied. 

            “Has he always been like this?” Sherlock asked, leaning surreptitiously towards James. 

            “Oh yes.” James gave Sherlock a confused look. “I figured you-” 

            “ _James_ ,” John interjected, and James fell silent with a nod. 

            “That's not terrifically fair,” Sherlock said, unable to suppress how miffed he felt. 

            “Look, I...I've approached this as my opportunity to really put a lot of my past behind me. And I thought I could get away with not talking about it. You had never asked before. We met, and became friends, and started working...and it didn't matter.” 

            “It still doesn't, at least insofar as judging you.” 

            “But you said it's holding me back, and...you're right. But I also can't just...let it out. James knows...some, but that didn't come easy either.” 

            “Lord knows that's true,” James quipped. Humour took the edge off his renewed shock over John's confession. The honesty settled heavily in his gut and left him a little lightheaded. “At any rate, John, if you're looking for permission, that's the entire point of this.” 

            “This is not something most people do. I'm just... _bizarre_.” 

            “Irrespective of whatever percentage of people do this sort of thing,” James said, “your exceptionalism – and you _are_ exceptional – is by far the most enticing thing about you.” 

            He'd made his way slowly into the kitchen as he spoke, gaze riveted to John's, until they were all but chest to chest. 

            “So for the love of God, John, listen when we say it's all right. I'm certain I can speak for Sherlock as well when I tell you neither of us give a damn whether you're 'normal' or not. And quite frankly I will take whatever I'm offered – that is more than I ever expected.”           

            John's hands threaded up the sides of James' neck to frame his face and pull him into a kiss. James froze up with surprise, but John was undeterred. Eventually as John insisted, James let himself relax a notch to return the kiss. For a few precious seconds, both of them felt nearly ten years melt away. 

            When they finally let the moment end, both of them slid a guilty look off to Sherlock back by the door. That little possessive flame in him returned as he'd watched, but he understood how involuntary it was. By the time James and John caught his eye, it had been conquered. He returned a small and perhaps a little smug smile. 

            “There is one thing I got wrong. I should have realised I'd be kidding myself either of you would deign to _talk_ first. We certainly didn't when we finally decided to be honest with each other,” Sherlock said, eyeing John with a meaningful look. 

            “True,” John mumbled, ears still red and staring at the floor. “And frankly I rather owe you,” he added as a little nudge towards James. However, James didn't respond, or even much react besides his expression growing a touch downcast. 

            “I'm not who I was then,” he murmured. “However romantically inclined...physically it's not the same anymore.” 

            John's face fell a little, but he recouped and nodded. 

            “Oh, right. If you're not interested, that's fine.” 

            “You misunderstand. It's not a question of inclination, it's...” 

            James' sentence drifted off, and his mouth set in a firm line. John closed in again without hesitation, holding his neck with a hand. Even Sherlock's demeanour became openly sympathetic. 

            “I...I see,” was all John could bring himself to offer. 

            “I...” James grit his teeth and let out an aggressive sigh. “I function, for lack of a more delicate term. The injuries sustained didn't extend that far. But I will inevitably disappoint, so I feel it better to simply inform you now.” 

            “Wait, nothing is _physically_ stopping you,” John said. 

            “Correct.” 

            “And nothing is _emotionally_ stopping you,” Sherlock added. 

            “Y-yes...also correct.” 

            “You're self-conscious, then. Perhaps of your appearance, given the extensive scarring? Moreso the lost functionality of the hand, I suppose,” Sherlock said, more to himself than anyone else as he settled into his usual analysis. 

            “ _Sherlock,_ ” John rumbled, and Sherlock snapped back to, for once looking chastened. 

            “Apologies, James. I...” 

            “It's fine. You're quite right,” James replied quietly.           

            John brought his hands up again to frame James' face. He frowned in a valiant, if ineffective, attempt to rein in his emotions.           

            “You know I don't care, right? I mean...not to cheapen your feelings, but I'm not without a few scuffs I'm sheepish about, too,” he said, tilting his head down and to his left shoulder. 

            “It's not the same, John.” 

            John winced; he was right, it wasn't the same. They slipped into an awkward pause, neither sure how to proceed, before Sherlock grew thoughtful. 

            “Each of us standing here has had a near-death experience, James. At the very least, we can share and appreciate that. Don't deny yourself something you want because you fear not measuring up.” 

            James' head came up to look at Sherlock. 

            “While perhaps not for the same reasons, I can absolutely sympathise with that fear as well,” Sherlock added. “It isn't worth it, trust me. Whatever you imagine you'll lose is nothing compared to what you'll gain.” 

            They held each other's eyes for several seconds before a little crack of a smile broke on James' face. 

            “You're quite keen on getting your partner laid by someone who isn't you.” 

            Sherlock's face split in a grin. 

            “Oh, I think one way or another it'll work out for me. Shall we, then?” he said, gesturing courteously towards the back of the flat.           

            “What, n-now?” John asked, voice pitched a bit higher than normal. 

            “Yes? What, was all this hand-wringing over something to happen next week? That hardly breaks the tension of it, good lord. No time like the present.”

            John put a hand to Sherlock's chest to stop him from marching off. 

            “Sherlock, I've barely so much as _seen_ James in ten years. We can't just...” 

            James shrugged and nodded a little in agreement, and Sherlock gave a massive, exasperated sigh. 

            “Look, I'm very, very good, but I can't just make it rain for you two so you can have whatever tawdry moment you think is necessary before you can shag off the _palpable_ _mountain_ of sexual tension between the two of you, so you might as well just skip it.” 

            John gave a little exasperated noise of his own and looked to James. 

            “I'll leave the decision to you, but...Sherlock _does_ have a point. Hesitation now is a little arbitrary,” James said. 

            John met the answer with rapid blinking for a few seconds, then rolled his shoulders and set his jaw. 

            “...Right. This might just be the strangest thing I've ever done.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

            Sherlock let his amusement go for a moment and put a hand to the small of John's back for comfort. 

            “All my teasing aside...are you certain? I don't aim to push the issue where it isn't wanted.” 

            John smiled, his tension washing away with the single question. 

            “No, it's fine. I appreciate you checking, though.” 

            Sherlock nodded and led them both back to the bedroom. He headed for the chair he kept in the corner and took a seat. 

            “My only real request is I'm allowed to remain. It isn't a lack of trust, I assure you, but nonetheless my...sensibilities demand I be present. At least at first. As much as I've considered all this, until it's put into practice I'm acclimating as much as either of you are. Does that sound fair?” 

            “I'm in no position to negotiate,” James replied quietly. 

            “Hardly. I'm not interested in bullying you into any kind of submission, James. Relationships like these work only if they're fair, well-communicated, and collectively agreed-upon. Please, do be frank.” 

            “You...” John interrupted, “you don't want to participate?” 

            Now, it was Sherlock's turn to be surprised. 

            “I...well, I'm not opposed to the idea. I simply didn't think _you_ would be interested. And, of course, there's James to consider.” 

            James' head tilted with curiosity. 

            “Do you...find me attractive?” he asked Sherlock, and in an unexpected turn, Sherlock flushed a little. 

            “You...you're fine,” he stammered in a completely failed attempt to be passive. In a further tell of nervousness, he scratched at the back of his head. John's eyebrows went up, and he grinned. 

            “Oh. _Oh_. I see your ulterior motive,” John said slyly. 

            “ _No_ , I have no ulterior motive. That...that has _nothing_ to do with this.” 

            “Sure,” John drawled sarcastically, but softened his tease by striding over to kiss the top of Sherlock's head. “He has a military fetish,” he explained to James. 

            “It is not _a fetish_. I'm perfectly capable of other means of getting off. It's...an interest.” 

            “Anyway, he's keen on military types, and you look it a bit more than I do. Doesn't help that the first time he saw you, you were in full dress.” 

            James flushed. 

            “I...see.” 

            “But Sherlock's right. What do you think? Would you feel better if it was just you and me?” 

            “If he's going to watch anyway, far be it from me to make anyone feel left out. Especially if he has... _an interest_ ,” James replied, to which Sherlock couldn't help but smirk. 

            “I wouldn't have pegged you for a tease, James.” 

            James responded simply with a single, suggestive bounce in his eyebrows. His confidence, however, was short-lived and as he took a seat at the edge of the bed. His spine was stiff and his right hand's fingers were drumming on his knee. John crossed back over to sit next to him, taking James' left hand in his right. 

            “We'll take our time, hm? It's a little strange and awkward for all of us, but...I definitely owe you.” 

            “I'm not here to balance a debt.” 

            John's brow wrinkled. 

            “Sorry, I don't mean it like that.” James' gloom didn't seem to ease, so John reached up to run his hand through James' military buzzcut on the left side. However, James' head drooped on his neck.

             “I can't feel it very well. Everything you can see is like that. That's what I meant by disappointing you.” 

            With just a few words, John felt himself transported back to 2010 – listless, in pain, and alone. James was facing down the same empty existence many veterans faced upon returning home, and that Sherlock had saved John from. A heavy swoop of empathy filled John, driving him to tilt James' face into a sweet kiss. 

            “S'okay, promise,” he murmured against James' chin as they pulled away. “The only one of us who's ever disappointed was me. And I still regret it.” 

            James surged into another kiss. It was a little clumsy, trying to catch his weight on his left arm, but John made up for it once he recovered. Sherlock, despite the invitation, held back for now to let them reacquaint themselves. It was a nice view, regardless. 

            Now that they'd clambered over the worst barrier of awkwardness time had put between them, John and James couldn't seem to get enough of each other. They slid themselves completely onto the bed as they kissed. James' hand pulled John's shirt into a tight fist to keep him close as possible. John rolled so James was on his back. As intense as the kissing was, they took their time, content to get their introductory fill. They eventually slowed to a stop to end up staring at each other. James raked at the top of John's head, quietly delighting in the weight splayed over him. They could see in each other's eyes the silent agreement that already, this was better than their first (and until now, last) encounter half a world away. 

            At that point, Sherlock decided to act on the opening. He went to sit at the corner of the bed, crossing his legs. 

            “You two make for quite a show. If you've changed your minds about my participation, I'll be plenty content watching,” he opened. John leant on an elbow so he could look back at Sherlock. 

            “No, it's okay. I mean...” he paused and looked down at James again. 

            In silent response, James craned his head up for a last kiss before easing John off so he could sit up. He gestured to Sherlock, who climbed over on all fours to him. A barely-noticeable frown marred Sherlock's face as he settled in; he was a little concerned he might be putting James in a place he didn't want to be. James reached out and thoughtfully drew a thumb back and forth along Sherlock's lower lip. James could see the hesitation and gave him a rare, reassuring smile. 

            “Tall, dark, and handsome was the preference when I was in school. John has always been rather an exception,” he explained. 

            That got Sherlock to return a smile of his own, upper teeth just visible.

             “I sympathise entirely.” 

            Sherlock closed in for a small, experimental kiss. Though the shape of John and James' mouths were similar, James' wider jaw made for a new and interesting experience. However, James seemed uninterested in any preface, and tilted his head to deepen the kiss. James was more methodical, Sherlock found. John ate Sherlock up with feverish desperation – and that was _wonderful_ – but James savoured every moment. Each swipe of the tongue lingered, every playful nibble pressed and held for just a moment before retreat. Sherlock couldn't help but shudder a little into James' mouth for it. 

            Off to their right, John gave a little gasp. 

            “Jesus Christ,” he murmured. He couldn't recall ever being harder in his damn life, just from watching his mutual flames make out. 

            James pulled away, and real confidence lit his eyes. His entire demeanour changed from everything Sherlock had come to expect of him – capable, clever, and even _dashing_ Major Sholto was still very much in there, despite hardship and injury. 

            “See, there's the benefit to the cooperation,” he said softly, nodding his head towards John. His eyes, however, remained locked with Sherlock's. “But you're quite nice yourself, so all the better.” 

            Sherlock could only flush and blink for several seconds. No one on Earth besides John had ever succeeded in such rapid, thorough seduction. He untangled himself from sitting to put himself in James' lap for more. 

            John _whimpered_. 

            After a few more moments of passionate kisses, Sherlock turned to look John up and down. 

            “You're quite right. Very effective,” he said to James, who laughed quietly in response. Sherlock decided to start upping the ante, but when his hands went to the hem of the turtleneck James wore, James wilted again. John saw it as well and sidled up close alongside them. 

            “Hey,” he said gently. James gave a little nod, but stared at his lap. 

            “Sorry. I'll be fine. It's...no one's seen...well, besides...” 

            John's head tilted in confusion, but realisation dawned on Sherlock's face. 

            “Tessa?” Sherlock offered carefully. John’s triage at the wedding reception hadn’t required stripping James down to nothing – in fact, they’d been very careful to keep the belt on until EMTs had arrived to help. Most of it had been John very carefully looking to make sure there was, in fact, a wound, and then directing paramedics to remove said belt and just the jacket later. 

            James could only nod, now even more deeply embarrassed. John was quick to slide in, arms about James' neck. 

            “Should we start first? Will that help?”

             As he considered, he felt an unusual swoop of comfort from both men right there with him, heads nestled together intimately. Eventually, he was able to meet their eyes. 

            “No, I will. Go ahead.” 

            After a quick exchange of glances, Sherlock sat up so John could do it. James knew both of them would be able to feel the nervous shiver in the base of his spine and loathed himself for it. To him, it seemed to take forever, every new inch of skin revealed more agonizing than the last. When the turtleneck at last went over his head and pulled away, he let out a heavy sigh from the tension. He looked away off the bed and towards the wall involuntarily. 

            Sherlock, simply because he was that kind of person, scanned James' torso with interest. John paid it no mind, opting to nuzzle into the side of James' head turned away from him. Along with that, John pet James' skin where he'd be able to feel it with the backs of his fingers in slow, patient swipes. 

            “It's awful,” James rasped. 

            “I'd agree, you're lucky to be alive,” Sherlock replied, head still down and tilted with analysis. 

            “ _Sherlock_ ,” John cut in once again, voice low and dangerous, but Sherlock shook his head. 

            “There's no point in denying it. His injuries were extensive and horrific, but they don't detract from who he is, or disqualify his attractiveness,” he said pragmatically, still absorbed in making deductions and completely unaware of the profundity of what he'd just said. “It makes him interesting, just as your scar does, John. Marks of a life well-lived.” 

            “A lot of people would beg to differ,” James retorted bitterly. 

            “Those people are idiots and blinded by their loss to all statistical risk of war. It doesn't _mean_ anything you lived and the others did not. No one foisted death upon them other than those who acted to kill, and you certainly haven't _earned_ your injuries, much less _death_ , as some...pointless recompense. And I'm sure your platoon members would have been amongst the first to agree, which is the greatest irony of all this, your attempted murder included.” 

            At last Sherlock looked up, passive as ever, but was immediately struck by James' expression. He was gibbering a little and staring into the middle distance. John gave James a little nudge and turned his head to face him. 

            “I take it no one has ever told you that,” he said. 

            “N-not with such effective evidence to back it up,” James replied numbly. “Not in a way I ever quite believed. Anyone 'on my side' would feel compelled to tell me that as a matter of course, and have.” 

            “He's a dick,” John said, giving Sherlock a quick look, “but he's right. And he said it much better than I ever could.” 

            “You were hurt under my command, too.” 

            “That was _nowhere near_ your fucking fault,” John replied sharply, but almost as quickly withdrew as he remembered the last time they'd had basically the same conversation. “No, sorry-” 

            “It's fine.” 

            “It isn't 2009 anymore. I have no excuse for taking that tone with you.” 

            They stared at each other for a long while, Sherlock sitting by and doing his best to stifle his furious curiosity.  At length, James broke the gaze to regard the bedspread. 

            “I've detracted from the main event.” 

            John shook his head and closed in for a long, apologetic kiss. 

            “You _are_ the main event.”


	4. Chapter 4

            James pulled back in mild surprise that only grew as he looked to Sherlock and saw him nodding in agreement. 

            “Wh…that was not what I had planned in coming here. Sherlock?” 

            “No, you’re quite right, James, but now we’re here I find I agree with John. You need…some quality attention,” Sherlock replied with a suggestive little smirk that made _both_ John and James’ guts drop. There was no point in wasting any time – Sherlock grasped the bottom panels of his button-up and pulled his own shirt up and off.  A little flicker of surprise and recognition passed on James’ face as he took in Sherlock’s bullet scar. Now he understood what Sherlock had meant by sharing near-death experiences. Of course, that also meant…

             John followed suit in peeling away his cardigan, button-up, and undershirt. That, of course, revealed his old injury, which James had never seen without pounds of gauze and medical tape. It hit him much harder than he expected; John reached over to steady James’ slight weaving and patted his paling cheek. 

            “Whoa, James, take it easy. I’m sorry, I didn’t stop to think.”           

            James’ eyelids fluttered, and he shook his head to clear it. 

            “Me either. I didn’t expect that kind of reaction. It’s been so long.” 

            Sherlock’s brow wrinkled. 

            “I suppose you were there.” 

            Neither John nor James spoke, but they did faintly nod without looking at each other. That had begun the unraveling of their relationship. However, it had also been the prelude to John’s life with Sherlock, and now, a real opportunity had been given to John and James to put everything to rest because of it. That had made for a long, hard road, but it had come around in a better place. It never would have worked for them back in Afghanistan, for many reasons; that had been evident from the start. 

            “Sorry. This _really_ isn’t the time, is it?” Sherlock said, successfully lifting the bit of gloom that had descended on his partners. John ushered Sherlock to him. That John still hadn’t told Sherlock about it weighed heavily on his mind, but he was right – that was for another time. It was all so tied up with James, anyway. 

As his own little apology, John began undoing Sherlock’s trousers, holding his eyes with a knowing little smirk all the while. James watched on, patiently waiting his turn. Once Sherlock was down to nothing, he turned and started in on James – only fair since John had done the top. When it came to James’ turn, however, he started in on John’s jeans with his right hand and…didn’t do very well. James had been left-handed before his injury, and John knew it. That, coupled with his lack of practice in undressing anybody besides himself in the past few years, it made for a short, but noticeable, challenge. John murmured and kissed his encouragement over James’ reddened face until he at last pulled the top button free and pulled the zipper. 

“John…” James said nervously. 

“You aren’t a disappointment,” John immediately answered, and James relaxed.           

            “It’s just…every little thing that used to be so simple…” 

            “I know. I could barely walk before I met Sherlock. You’ll get there.” 

            James gave John a confused look, but before he could comment, Sherlock came up behind him and threaded his arms loosely about James’ neck to address John in front of them both. 

            “I had a thought. Since James is to be the centre of attention anyway, I think we should opt to be on our sides. You in front, me behind. You two need some quality face time. Keep it low-key.” 

            “Good idea. My left side isn’t going to be conducive to anything, anyway,” James said. He had to admit, Sherlock’s touch was…nice. He rubbed one of Sherlock’s arms over his chest. “Question is, what about you?” 

            “Don’t worry about me. As long as you don’t mind me using you for a bit of frottage while you two have your fun.” 

            John made a small, involuntary noise. 

            James grinned.           

            “Not in the least.”           

            Plan made, they shuffled themselves into position. Both John and Sherlock had to slide up to meet James’ head, as he was taller than them both. A contented little sigh escaped James as they settled in; it was delightfully warm and inexplicably…secure, being in-between these two men. This was a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a _very_ long time; it wasn’t exactly easy getting laid in a warzone, much less comfortably, and after he was hurt… _well_. 

            John, for his part, couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed. Sherlock caught his eye over James’ shoulder, however, and John could see the characteristic _look_ in his eyes. When his irises, thinly colored for his widened pupils, grew stormy blue-grey, like thick, heady clouds ready to envelop John down to the soul. Sherlock wasn’t just reiterating his permission; he was all but _begging_ John to follow through. 

            No arguing with that. 

            He returned his attention to James, carding his fingers up the small forest of hair covering James’ chest. Sherlock added his touch to the mix, scraping gently at James’ lower torso with short fingernails. James let go of all restraint and threaded his arm under John’s arm and around his shoulders to pull him in close as he could get. He’d gone so, so long thinking he’d never have this again, and he wouldn’t be deterred any longer. 

            John had forgotten just how commanding James could be. He  _was_ a Major, of course, but he was so soft-spoken it drew even John into a false sense of quietude. Time hadn’t softened James bodily just yet, either; if John closed his eyes, he might as well still be in Afghanistan, there was so little difference in sensation. He didn’t let himself drift back too far into memory, however – Afghanistan signified a lot of terrible things that had nothing to do with James. Instead, he contented himself with sliding his hand down the line of James’ profile, down to his hip. Lovely as Sherlock’s lithe shape was, there was something to be said for James’ much more stocky frame. After all, at one time he could physically pick John up as if he were a child -- he knew _that_ from experience. 

            James was desperate, pouring repressed sentimentality into every new kiss, and slowly pulling John into a tighter and tighter embrace. Every now and again, John made sure to smooth a hand over Sherlock’s upper arm where it held James, or catch his eye -- just to remind him that John remembered and appreciated him. Not that Sherlock appeared to feel left out in the least; he’d discovered James was rather sensitive at the patch just behind his ear, and was taking full advantage. More than once, James broke out of a kiss for a surprised little gasp. Each time, it sent a more powerful shot of pure want straight to John’s cock. 

           “Jesus Christ,” James mumbled. “You two are a hell of team.” 

           “Like he said,” John replied, nodding to Sherlock, “you deserve quality attention.” 

           That was the point he took James in hand, as well as got his first legitimate moan out of his former commander. A rush of satisfaction swept over him, much as it had a decade earlier – it was an _achievement_ getting anything involuntary out of James. Sherlock took the cue, too, burying his face in the nape of James’ neck to begin rutting into the crevice of his arse. 

            It had been ages since James had experienced anything even resembling a coupling like this, so he was quickly overwhelmed, though in the best way possible. This kind of overwhelming was a welcome change from the desperate isolation he’d grown accustomed to. There was no need for pretense, or even playful competition anymore, so he let his reactions, vocal and bodily, make themselves known without restraint. John and James were no longer soldier and commander; the equality they’d strained to achieve at war now fell comfortably at their feet, with Sherlock as a kind of broker between them. As in the rest of John’s life, Sherlock had been the missing piece here, too. A heady rush flooded his head with gratitude and adoration for it. 

            John chose to start with petting only his thumb up the underside in patient strokes. James was already hard from all the previous attention, but John’s delicate touch was what got him truly dripping. It began building in thick drops, and once John felt he’d sufficiently painted the shaft with it, he began stroking in long, firm passes. 

            “You like it hard and slow,” John murmured. “I haven’t forgotten that.” 

             James gave a choked gasp. 

            “Like a good burn, do you? Another thing we have in common,” Sherlock added before tilting his head to nibble at the back of James’ neck. “No wonder we’ve achieved such a _rapport_.” 

             James simply barked a long string of curses in response. 

             John hitched himself up to get as close as possible to James so he could wank them both off at once. He liked James’ hand right where it was, holding the base of his skull. This was easier, anyway. Sherlock rut at James’ arse, wet and hot and _not quite enough_ even as his cock sunk deeper into the crevice. It made James’ feet twitch and shuffle a bit, searching to find purchase so he could push back into Sherlock. Since their hips were aligned, James panted and nuzzled into John’s hair, and John nipped and laved at James’ prone Adam’s apple in return. 

             Sherlock noted the size difference and grinned wickedly. 

            “I look forward to seeing you ride James’ lap,” he said, low and salacious. “Or maybe the other way round. I can’t pick.” 

            “Not until he fucks you, first,” John replied. 

            “Oh my _fucking god_ ,” James bleated. “I—I’m…“ 

            Too late. He came, coating John’s hand around them thoroughly, but John was unperturbed. Sherlock followed close behind; the idea of being bent over and had by James – and at _John’s_ _order_ no less – was too much for him. John released James’ dick to finish himself off, but at the last moment James played at the head with the tips of his fingers even as John desperately wanked to send him over. 

             John all but wanted to crawl under James’ skin in the aftermath, he got so close. Wonderful as it was, James couldn’t help but be surprised at such a show of emotionality from John. It certainly hadn’t been that way the last time they’d been together, but then…that hadn’t really been opportune at the time. Sherlock seemed unsurprised by the display; this must be the usual. In fact, Sherlock reached over James’ shoulder to gently card John’s hair. 

            “Should I go?” Sherlock asked quietly, but before James could speak his hasty refusal, John clapped a hand over Sherlock’s wrist wordlessly. That rather settled the matter. John didn’t speak further, and James let him continue to hide under his chin while Sherlock continued petting him from afar. At length, James interrupted Sherlock just long enough to capture his hand and press a grateful kiss to the backs of his fingers. An unexpected, happy little flutter stirred in Sherlock’s chest for it. Since John didn’t seem interested in conversation for the moment, Sherlock decided to capitalize. 

            “So, you’re gay, then?” he murmured into James’ shoulder. 

            “Mm, no. Bisexual. Much like John,” James said, though his words seemed purposefully weighted with a significance Sherlock didn’t recognize. John, however, responded by holding James a shade tighter. 

            “Ah,” Sherlock replied. The pieces were beginning to fit together. He pet James’ torso briefly and tousled John’s hair before raising himself up. “I’ve some errands to run, things to check up on. I’ll be home later,” he continued gently. John rocketed his head up to look at Sherlock, but his panic was short-lived upon seeing his partner’s small, understanding smile. James rolled onto his back to look Sherlock in the eyes. 

            “Sherlock—“ James began, but stalled. He didn’t even know where to start. 

            “Stay as long as you like,” Sherlock cut in softly. “Really, I won’t be terribly long. I’ll bring us back some lunch, if you’re keen.” 

            The promise of regrouping later eased James’ anxiety. He nodded. 

            “Yes, that sounds good. Haven’t eaten since before I got on the train.” He turned to John, who also gave a nervous little nod. He was still processing the morning. 

            Sherlock hopped out of bed with all his usual pep. 

            “Excellent. Both of you, clean up, you’re a disaster.” He gathered his clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. Within ten minutes, he was pounding down the stairs, leaving John and James where they were in bed, looking askance of each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Tags will be added as fic progresses, most likely for specific kinks rather than characters.


End file.
